


Dark

by fuzzybatbutts



Series: Lessons To Be Learned [7]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games), Titanfall (Video Games)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, BDSM, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I'm Bad At Summaries, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mild Gore, Mouth trauma, Nyctophobia, Other, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, RIP Elliotts mental health, miragehound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20041852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzybatbutts/pseuds/fuzzybatbutts
Summary: Elliott wakes up in an unfamiliar place with only one goal in mind, to escape the hell he's been living in finally. But someone has other ideas.





	Dark

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE PLEASE READ!!
> 
> So my beta and I have a discord now!! It's specifically for fans of apex who love dark fiction, so if you like this series it'll be right up your alley!! It was created since I got booted from an apex server for posting noncon so it's to protect us fans who the purity police deem problematic. Nothing is too far and there's specifically a blacklist channel for those of us who love the nastiest of the nasty. :D if the link doesnt cooporate, lemme know and I'll find a way to send it to you ^^  
https://discord.gg/xNkTyCV
> 
> I'm tired I think this is part six and thanks to volatileSoloist as always for beta'ing the crap out of this chapter.

Elliott awoke to a beam of sunlight peeking through a crack in the curtains. He groaned and rolled onto his side, away from the offending rays of light. He breathed deep, the air carrying the faint smell of woodsmoke and pine. 

_ Wait… what? Where the hell is that coming from? _

Elliott jolted upright and whipped his head side to side, looking for some invisible threat that his mind insisted was there. Nothing hid in the corners, and there was no figure standing menacingly in the doorway waiting for him. Feelings of safety were already gone and his chest was already tight with adrenaline, but there was seemingly no monster in the shadows this time. All he saw were wooden walls and white curtains he hadn’t noticed before, blowing softly in a breeze that chilled the room. Elliott rubbed his eyes and swung one leg over the bed, yawning and shaking the remaining sleep from his head. Something on his arms burned as he moved his hands around, raw, red skin encircling his wrists that was tender when he brushed his fingertips against it. 

_ When did…. _

It hit him like a ton of bricks to the chest. The memory of him with Anita and how he’d passed out in the alleyway after she’d left, eyelids heavy with whatever had been slipped in his drink. Waking up bound and stripped with…  _ them  _ looming over him. The tubes bursting from their skin and that toothy smile on their face. How they’d touched him without inflicting pain for the first time, and how much he’d loved it. 

_ Fucking hell, what’s wrong with me? _

His skin felt too tight, but the self-disgust he longed to feel was tinged with the memory of how hard he’d come and how the smile on their face afterwards had felt worth the torment. He hated that he’d given in so easily, that he’d let the fear of what they’d do to him cloud his judgement. He shivered and looked down, grimacing at the come that had dried inside his boxers. It was just another reminder that he hadn’t even tried to fight back, just rolled over and accepted his fate like he was completely helpless. The disgust twisted his stomach and he ground his teeth together in frustration. 

_ I’m a champion for fuck’s sake, not a scared little kid. There’s got to be something I can do to get the fuck out of here… _

Elliott had been in so many tough situations throughout the games, and he’d somehow managed to worm his way out of each one relatively unscathed. He’d gone against snipers with nothing but an empty pistol in open fields, faced down mortar strikes, choked on gas, been surrounded by whole squads in the confines of one small building, and yet he’d pulled through. Bloodhound had been the only person to ever really get the better of him, but what seemed to be their attack strategy relied on being able to hide. If he could get out of here—wherever here was—and if he kept his guard up, he could stand a chance at getting away. The location wasn’t one he’d pick for himself but he’d have to work with what he had. Regardless of however big this building was, there’d be corners to hide in and possibly hallways with open rooms that he’d have to contend with. He didn’t have his holo-tech suit or a gun, but he had to do something. Doing anything was better than being locked in here at the mercy of something whose motives he couldn’t even pretend to understand. 

He stood and examined the room again, opening nightstand drawers and looking around to check for hidden cameras or mics. Bloodhound couldn’t be everywhere at once, so he reasoned that they probably had some kind of surveillance system, since they didn’t seem the type to be caught off guard so easily. To Elliott, it seemed almost like a kind of paranoia disguised under layers of threats and intimidation. He’d seen Hound lose it once and that level of fury couldn’t come from a rational person, though God only knew what exactly they were. He’d never heard of anything like what Hound had done to themself, and he’d sure as hell never seen anything like it either. He wasn’t exactly an expert in the field of cybernetic enhancement but it looked like something more complex than simply replacing severed or weakened limbs. And then there were the eyes, still covered by glass, even indoors when the smoky grey covering should have impaired their vision more than assisting it. Some people wore contacts that could enhance their vision, and such things were common enough to be allowed in the games so long as they didn’t give too much of an edge. But the mask looked like it was affixed to their face, or maybe designed specifically for them. It was unnerving, but he suspected Hound didn’t wear it just for dramatic effect. 

_ I can think about all this later, right now I need to get the hell out of here. _

The only thing that had any contents was a wardrobe shoved in the corner. Shirts hung from hangers, and pants were folded neatly in the drawers below, all seemingly in his size. It creeped Elliott out, since there was no way Hound wore the same things he did—they were taller and much more well-built than he was. He tried not to think of Bloodhound rummaging through his apartment and instead turned his head towards the door. There was no lock on the interior and when the door handle didn’t resist, he took a step back. It was suspicious enough that he’d woken up without the bindings, despite not remembering Hound removing them, and the door being unlocked couldn’t be a mistake. From what he’d gathered and heard from other champions, they weren’t the type to be sloppy unless there was a reason to be. The whole thing already reeked of a trap to Elliott, but he shook it off and opened the door, cringing as the hinges creaked. He held his breath and waited as he listened for footsteps, relieved the hallway ahead stayed quiet. As eerie as it was, he preferred it to the sound of heavy boots or their voice if they called out to him. Sneaking silently around had never been his forte, but he figured it’d be better to die trying to run than sitting around possibly waiting to die. 

The hallway in front of him was long and narrow with two doors and a sharp turn up ahead. He padded down the hall, being careful to step on the rug in the hall to muffle his steps as he crept slowly towards the bend. Both of the doors were slightly ajar, but at least with the lights on he wagered that he’d see a shadow on the wall before they’d turn the corner. The first looked like another bedroom, likely Hound’s, but it being empty felt like a good sign. The second door wasn’t open enough to really get a good look, but he could make out a desk under a window. It was reassuring that the house wasn’t pitch black and that he wouldn’t have to grope around in the darkness until he found a way out. They didn’t appear to be anywhere in this part of the building, so he wouldn’t have to check over his shoulder every other second—even if the urge to do so remained. 

The walls were mostly bare, save for the odd picture frame nailed to the wood. He couldn’t recognize anything or anyone in any of them, but noted that Hound themself was absent from every single one. One contained a picture of a large group of people standing behind a fire, arms wrapped around each other and smiling at the camera. Hound didn’t appear to be in that one either, not even shoved in the back row of people. It looked like they were in some kind of forest, but it didn’t seem like any he’d seen on Solace. The clusters of flowers in the bushes were a light blue and the trees looked massive, leaves not visible in the shot. One of the men had some brightly-colored lizard perched on his shoulder like a parrot, that looked to be posing for the camera too. Most of the older people had blue lines painted along their cheeks and neck, while the children had a red stripe across the eyes. They all had the same bronze skin and dark hair done up in braids. 

_ Is this… Bloodhound when they were a kid? No, none of them have any of the wiring they have, and their skin is too pale… _

Elliott shook his head, turning back to the task at hand. He couldn’t hear anything from around the corner and no shadow had started to creep up the wall. Silent as a church mouse, he peeked around the corner and still saw no signs of anything living. The hall opened up into a small kitchen and living space with a stone fireplace set into the wall. The walls themselves looked like logs that had come from some massive tree, stacked on top of each other until they met with the low ceiling. A wood stove filled the air with a light, sweetly-smelling smoke that drifted lazily out an open window. Pelts decorated the walls from creatures Elliott hadn’t even known existed, and ivory statues were placed on shelves around the walls. They also looked strange, shaped into monsters with meticulously carved features and fur. Elliott was annoyed that the place looked damn near cozy, like a summer cabin that should be overlooking a lake instead of a hideout for a sadist.

Still, Elliott was grateful for the open layout. There were no spaces that Hound could be hiding and there’d been no stirring from the hallway behind him. Unless they were about to drop down the chimney like a cyborg Santa Claus, he looked to be safe. From the kitchen window he could see that the cabin was located in some kind of forest, but not the alien one from the photograph. They looked like the fir tree forests he was used to on Solace, so he was relieved he hadn’t been shoved in a suitcase and flown to some desolate moon far away from civilization. He still had no idea exactly where he was, but it gave him enough hope to take another step towards the door. He examined the floor ahead of him, looking for trip wires or anything hidden Hound might have set up. Fortunately, there looked to be nothing, so he kept going toward the entrance, keeping his head low and out of sight of the windows. His instincts warned him that this had all been too easy, that there was something laying just beyond that door that would do him in, but he didn’t care. 

_ Bastard probably thought I’d be too scared to go anywhere. Fuck that, I’ve had enough of this. _

As hypocritical as it was, Elliott hated cockiness in other people. The fear had clouded his mind, but now it was replaced by anger, which he much preferred. He wasn’t an aggressive person, but he was tired of being treated like a living sex doll. With every step toward the door, he remembered something that made his blood boil further—memories of their every encounter were burned behind his eyes and thanks to them, every time he put on a shirt he could feel the collar as it rubbed against the scar. His hand hadn’t regained full mobility after being nearly cut in two, so when he clenched his fists, the pain just fueled the growing rage. Elliott didn’t care if Bloodhound was waiting outside the door. He wanted to see their face again and  _ wanted _ to beat it to a pulp. He wasn’t strong, but he was fast and he doubted Bloodhound would be as good without all their gadgetry or the element of surprise. There was only one way in, and he was right in front of it. He took a deep breath and got ready to run. He threw the door open and surged forward, sun already warming his face as it peeked through the trees. A worn-down path led deeper into the forest, and he turned to dash down it as quickly as he could.

The hand that grabbed his shoulder had other ideas. 

Everything seemed to slow down as Elliott turned to see what exactly had ensnared him, though he feared he already knew the answer. As his head turned, that awful, vile grin came into view, and his heart sank down into his gut. Their hand dug painfully into his shoulder and as they held him in a vice-like grip, Elliott knew he’d made a mistake. He hadn’t heard anything from behind him and hadn’t seen a spot where they could have possibly been hiding, but they were there regardless. “Ah, Kærr, trying to leave so soon?”

With every ounce of strength he had he twisted around and went to drive his elbow into their chest, but they kept smiling and stepped back, pulling hard on his shoulder and knocking him off balance. He tripped and fell back, splinters of wood from the forest floor biting into his bare back. With them staring down at him, he knew he couldn’t bear another second of their ghastly expression, and he tried to scurry and twist away from them, aiming to get up to his feet again and bolt, but their boot connected with his lower back and knocked him forward into the dirt. His head cracked against the ground but still he tried to claw his way forward in the cold, wet earth, desperate to be away from the  _ thing _ chuckling behind him. They let him drag himself a few more feet before he heard them walking behind him and quickly closing the distance. Elliott’s heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst, fear overtaking him. “How clumsy you are!” they mocked, “Here, I will help.”

Bloodhound planted their feet on both sides of his body and bent down, grabbing a fistful of his hair and hauling him to his feet. He screamed, equal parts pain and anger. He tried to kick his feet out and catch them in the knee, but they held him out in front of them and let him kick at the air instead. His fingers clawed at their hand, trying to untangle their fingers, but they just growled and jerked his head to the side, painfully wrenching his neck and tightening their grip. “What did I just tell you last night? It seems your memory fails you yet again.”

“Go to Hell, you freak!” Elliott screamed, still slapping at their hand in vain. 

They pursed their lips and Elliott could feel them glaring behind the glass lenses. “Apologize,” they ordered. 

“Go shove it up your ass!” he snarled back. Hound wasn’t scaring him like usual—his mind was nothing but rage, and the adrenaline in his system desperately wanted someone to take it out on. He couldn’t loosen their hold on him, but he could at least let them know he wasn’t their darling little  _ pet _ anymore.

“I see I was too generous last night,” they said cooly, anger strangely absent from their voice, “I will not make that mistake again.”

They promptly turned on their heels and dragged him back towards the door, hardly bothered by the stream of curses as Elliott called them every vile thing he could think of. The flood of memories was fueling the anger instead of any sense of shame. It turned his blood to fire, which the pain only added to.

They moved fast enough that he couldn’t attempt to stand without instantly being yanked forward and slamming his knees into the wooden floor. Elliott watched as they pulled him into the room he hadn’t been able to see and slammed the door behind him. “Let me go!” he cried.

Hound shrugged and before Elliott could curse them again they threw him hard enough into the wall that it knocked several of the figures from their shelves. Bloodhound clucked their tongue and sighed, shaking their head down at him. Elliott’s vision went blurry but he continued the barrage of insults, screaming his throat raw as he released weeks of pent-up emotions. He could see a blur that he assumed was Bloodhound striding towards him, but he was too dizzy to stand up and run. The blob moved and he just barely registered it before they drove their boot into his temple. He fought off the flood of black clouding his vision, but it was no use. Before he slumped to the floor he heard another sigh from the figure above him as they spoke,“I am not sorry about this, Elliott.”

_______

Pain exploded through Elliott’s head as his eyes fluttered open. He groaned, the aching in his temple coming down in crashing waves. Another pain not-so-gently coaxed him back to consciousness, but the more he woke the more intense the burn became. His shoulders felt like they were on fire, the muscles stretched until it felt like they would snap. He was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists, dangling from a wooden beam. His feet could only just touch the ground, but not enough to stop the strain. It was dark, the barest hint of light coming from a hatch in the ceiling that dimly lit the floor. It looked like it was just packed dirt, damp and cold under his toes. With his arms raised he couldn’t move his head enough to see behind him or at his sides. Any movement sent shooting pain down his arms and all the way into his lower back. The position also squeezed his chest uncomfortably making breathing a laborious task.

“You are awake, finally.”

The voice chilled him more than the cool air. It came somewhere from the dark behind him, echoing enough to make sourcing it possible. “Stop hiding, you coward!” he yelled into the black.

“Oh Kærr, I’m not hiding.”

A pause.

“I’m right here.”

Elliott recoiled when the warm breath tickled his ear, crying out in pain when the motion of pulling away strained the muscles further to the point he feared they’d snap if he didn’t hold still. He could hear the smile in Hound’s laugh, a low, throaty chuckle as they slowly walked in front of him, blocking what little light peaked through. The blue liquid in the tubes glowed slightly in the dark, giving them an eerie wash of color underneath the pale skin. “I would never hide from you.”

Elliott glared as hard as he could. “What the fuck do you call all of your ‘disappearing into the shadows’ bullshit then?”

Hound shrugged again, a gesture Elliott was quickly growing to hate. “Maybe it will teach you to pay closer attention, although you do look lovely when you are scared.”

They stroked his cheek with the back of their hand, the cool, plastic tubing leaving a cold trail in its wake. “I cannot keep my hands off you at the best of times, but when you have that look on your face…” 

The words practically oozed sex as they spoke, biting their lip and sighing happily. “A  _ freak _ like me can easily lose control.”

Elliott didn’t like how they threw the word back in his face. If the insult had bothered them, he couldn’t tell through how pleased they looked. “Maybe you should learn to keep your fucking hands to yourself then.”

_ WHAM! _

Elliott tried not to double over as Hound delivered a wicked punch to his sternum, coughing as he tried to regain the air that had been knocked out of him. “Ah ah ah Elliott, watch your language.”

Once he was able to stop gasping for air, Elliott spit on the ground at their feet. “Fuck you.”

_ WHAM! _

Their fist connected again with a sickening crunch, and he choked down a scream as pain radiated out from his sternum where it had connected. “Elliott, I said watch your language.”

He stared them down as best he could between each wheezing breath. “And unless you forgot already, I said fuck you.”

“Oh, Elliott, what am I going to do with you?”

“Cut me down so I can kick your ass?”

“No, I do not think so.” They hummed for a moment. “You know Elliott, your incessant back-talk reminds me of something I read not too long ago.” 

“Was it directions to go fuck yourself? Because if it’s not, I’m not interested.”

“Not quite. You see, it was a history book I found about Earth many, many years ago. A generic book overall, but it had a section that I found quite interesting.”

They put their hands behind their back and walked in a slow, deliberate circle around him, something that reminded him of a vulture waiting to swoop down. “It was about life in the sixteenth century, in particular the methods a man would use to discipline his wife should the need arise. Nothing too awful. Permission to strike her in private should she disobey and the like. What I found interesting however, was the condoning of public humiliation.”

Elliott stayed quiet, unsure of where the hell Hound was going with this but also unsure if he wanted to find out. The fact they were tolerating his outburst set off the warning bells in his mind, signaling that Hound had something worse planned for him.

“It was a common thing back then, you see. An effective method of punishment because it made the wives look like fools, and wounded their pride so they would not disobey their husbands or do other undesirable things like gossip or scold their spouses publically. It got its name for the latter, a ‘Scold’s Bridle’, as it was known.”

They continued to pace and Elliott grew more uncomfortable with each lap they did, head down, seemingly ignoring him and continuing to tell their story.

“It consisted of a metal headpiece that would be locked onto the woman and a gag with a metal spike in the center. She could not eat or drink until her husband unlocked it and she was paraded around town to show everyone she was an undesirable partner. If she tried to speak, the spike would slice her tongue open—a kind of poetic justice, it seems. It was extremely heavy and uncomfortable, and sometimes they would be tied to a pole or building in town and left to be mocked or tormented by everyone else.”

“Get to the fucking point,” Elliott groaned, tired of the history lesson.

“I do not have one of those, unfortunately. I do however, have the next best thing.”

Something in Hounds hand glinted in the light, but Elliott couldn’t quite tell what it was until Hound tapped the blade under his eye. “It is quite sharp. It is dangerous to cut with a dull knife after all.”

They traced the blade down his face, just light enough to pull the skin but not cut it open. They rested the knife at the corner of his mouth, and even with the dismal lighting, he could see them make a big show of frowning as they examined his lips. “Your mouth is quite crooked now, is it not?”

Elliott felt the blood drain from his face as they slowly turned the blade so it was even with the corner of his mouth. “I will tell you what, Elliott: if you can be a good boy and tell me what you did to deserve the scar on the other side,  _ and _ all the other little scars I have gifted to you, along with an apology, I will leave the little imperfection be. If you cannot, well... then my love of symmetry will be quite satisfied.”

No words came to his mouth as he tried to figure out what to say. Pride demanded he spit in Bloodhound’s face and scream that he’d done nothing wrong, but suddenly reason and self-preservation pleaded he go along with what they wanted to avoid any more injuries. But he  _ still _ hadn’t done anything to deserve how Bloodhound had tortured him. When they’d shot him and fucked him against the wall, he’d never even spoken to them before. They were the one who’d wronged him. He deserved an apology, along with a hell of a lot more. Every day he dealt with the phantom pains and the struggle to hide the bite mark and bullet holes. He was the one who had to look in the mirror and see how his nose had healed wrong, not them. He’d never even gotten the chance to properly touch them, aside from when they’d face-fucked him in a dirty alleyway after they’d sliced his cheek and broken his ribs. He hated the small, white scar on his face the most. It looked like he was always smiling a crooked smile, pulling the skin on his face just a bit too tight. He opened his mouth to speak, to throw another insult, but nothing came out and Hound just shook their head in disappointment. “Suddenly tongue-tied, are we? Well, let’s see if I cannot do something about that.”

“No! No, don’t touch m-”

Bloodhound took the opportunity of him speaking and pressed the blade to the corner of his mouth. With a flick of their wrist, the knife split the skin with little effort, the blade cutting about an inch clean through to copy the existing one. Elliott howled in pain, stretching the skin further and filling his mouth with blood. Seizing the chance, they stuck the knife in his mouth and carved a trench down the middle of his tongue—oh God, it  _ hurt _ —before wiping the blade on his neck. 

“There. Maybe know you will know that speaking out of turn is not allowed, much less insults. I cannot be bothered to stand here until you figure that out. I will come back when you are ready to apologize.”

Through the pain of his injuries, he barely noticed them slicing through the ropes holding him up, and stepping back so he wouldn’t land on their feet as he collided with the ground. The packed dirt felt like concrete and he lay there gasping for air in between sobs and moans of pain. Without another word they turned away and walked to the ladder that led up the hatch. In an instant he knew exactly what they planned to do and fear crushed the anger in his chest. “No! Don’t go! Don’t leave me down here!” His voice was halting, slowed by pain and the blood flowing down his throat.

They didn’t even look back to see him stretching a hand out towards the light, grasping at the air when he didn’t have the strength to crawl forward, and they didn’t look back either when they let the hatch fall closed behind them, sealing Elliott in the pitch-black basement. Alone.

“Come back here you son of a bitch!” he lisped out, rolling onto his back and staring into the darkness. His voice cracked, despite him trying to sound strong. “Get back here!”

Elliott’s throat was raw, like he’d swallowed sandpaper, and each scream was like rubbing salt into a wound. He couldn’t tell which way was which in the dark, which seemed so thick he could feel it pressing into his skin. His shoulders were too weak from the strain of hanging for him to pull himself up, so he lay in the dirt with tears streaking down his face. He was scared, more scared than he’d ever been even when facing down a gun empty-handed. Something childish in him called out, just afraid of the dark and what lay inside it, of nights when his brothers had kept him up with ghost stories that made him too terrified to sleep, especially now that he was living in a nightmare. Pride be damned, he didn’t want to be down there alone. It was impossible to tell how long he’d been screaming, and the echoes reverberating off the walls made it seem like he’d never even stopped to breathe, the noise pounding in his ears. 

“Please!” he finally called, desperate to be free from the shadows that he didn’t belong in. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me here.” 

His chest heaved and he was overcome by sobs that made his whole body shake. “Please… please come back. Don’t leave me down here. I’ll give you want you want, just please come back!”

Nothing. Either Bloodhound couldn’t hear, or wasn’t interested. 

It hurt too much to talk at this point and his mouth was so full of blood it was sliding down his throat and bubbling up when he’d try to make a sound. Afraid, alone, and whimpering to no one but himself, Elliott lay on his side and curled his legs to his chest, resting his forehead on his knees and waiting. Waiting for the light to come back, and not caring who came with it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaayyyy  
Would you look at that, an update not a whole ass month apart from the last??? Who'd have thought that was possible from me? Not fuckin me, that's who. 
> 
> I've been writing a lot but it's mostly been personal projects/my secret shame-shame project that I am already way too into even though I have one whole ass scene from it kind of partially done. I'm working nights now so my upload schedule is going to be extra wonky but ya boi needs money for school and books. (Also I know in previous chapters I said I’d do Octane/Caustic stuff but like I might not because unless I’m getting paid I need to go outside more and weed my rose garden cuz it's nasty but it's mosquito hell rn)
> 
> I don't know if anyone actually reads these brick walls of text but if you do comment below so I can have the validation of someone listening to my rambles.
> 
> Also another big thanks to volatilesoloist for listening to me throw ideas at them and throwing a lot of good ones back ^^ 
> 
> Cheers  
-P


End file.
